Of Love and Lesbians
by Whoever-Typed-This-Up
Summary: Lindsay discovers a piece of paper in Brian's home that she finds is of major importance to Brian, and to Justin. The second chapter is a continuation of the basic idea presented in the first chapter. One-shot. Fluffy. Brian/Justin.
1. Of Love and Lesbians: Part One

Of Love and Lesbians

_Part One_

There was a sheet of paper taped with evident precision to the wall above Brian's desk.

Lindsay examined the paper with interest, and upon inspection she realised that it was a timetable. It was a concise and particular schedule of an entire calendar which detailed weeks, weekends and vacations from January until December, but appeared to be unrelated to an actual calendar. The basic outline of the schedule had been printed with expensive ink, but Brian had written some times and dates in neat letters within the lines. Lindsay studied the dates and attempted to extract a structure from them which would explain their importance to her, but except for several basic patterns she had found, which she had deemed ineffectual a moment after, the dates appeared to be random. However, Lindsay knew that Brian was not an impulsive person, unless some recreational substances were involved. Brian did tend to address all matters with meticulous consideration. He definitely never placed any item in his home unless it was relevant to him.

Brian came towards her with two bottles of beer, one of which she accepted with a thankful smile. She sipped the alcoholic liquid from the bottle, and basked in the warm sensation that spread in her stomach after she had swallowed. After a moment, Lindsay motioned towards the paper with her hand to attract his attention towards it. "Bri, what's the schedule for?" she asked in a casual manner.

Brian's stare settled upon the paper, and for a moment a smile appeared upon his face, and then his cheeks became discoloured with apparent embarrassment and he hurried to form the appropriate clever answer. Lindsay identified the discomfort upon Brian's features, and remembered she had experienced a similar emotion when Brian had found her with a bouquet of flowers from an admirer, and when Melanie had found her with a leather briefcase she had intended for Melanie's birthday present after she had qualified as a lawyer. Lindsay realised that that specific embarrassment came when you were found to be as simple and romantic as everyone else, and the realisation caused her to beam with satisfaction. Despite his incessant declarations, Brian was no better than the rest of them.

"It's just a schedule . . ." Brian said after considerable hesitation. His mouth laboured to find a more impressive response, but it was futile. After several minutes, Brian surrendered and provided her with an honest answer: "Justin and I have created a schedule. It dictates when we visit each-other, and sometimes we insert additional dates when one of us has time from work or whatever . . ." Brian rubbed at his neck with his hand, and kept his stare upon the floor. Lindsay knew that he found the situation unpleasant, but she found it most pleasurable. "It's just a schedule . . ."

Lindsay nodded her head in acceptance. "That's wonderful," she commented with a broad smile of happiness. "I think that's really wonderful."

Brian addressed her with a furious stare, and she responded with a chuckle of amusement. Lindsay returned her attention to the paper, and upon a second inspection she realised the exactitude of the timetable. It indicated that Brian and Justin visited each-other at their respective locations on alternate weekends, with every third weekend dependent upon their professional situations, and every three months they spent an entire week with each-other. In the summer and winter time they had secluded three weeks for each-other. There were also infrequent dates where Brian had noted in with his smart penmanship:_ Conference in New York. Exhibition in Philadelphia. Public Holiday._ The more that Lindsay read of their schedule, the more infatuated she became with the concept of their relationship. It was beautiful and sorrowful, and simultaneously adorable. She knew that she could sell the concept to a film studio somewhere for ten thousand dollars.

"It may appear 'wonderful' to your lesbian brain, but it's really a nuisance. I have to obey the schedule unless I have a valid reason and a letter from my doctor as evidence. Justin's a Nazi with the schedule," Brian claimed, but Lindsay knew that he was a liar. As Michael had said, Brian always did what he wanted to do and no-one could convince him otherwise.

Lindsay offered him a tender smile. "I promise that I won't tell anyone," she assured him.

"Tell anyone what?" Brian asked. He stared at her with a stern expression as he lifted his bottle of beer to his mouth, and swallowed several mouthfuls.

"I won't tell anyone that you and Justin are more romantic than any of us," Lindsay teased him.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not romantic," Brian defended him with conviction. "It's . . . It's practical. We have to maintain our relationship somehow." He realised his mistake a moment after he spoke, and before he could correct himself Lindsay interjected.

"Okay, then. I suppose that whatever maintains your_ relationship_ with Justin is not romantic at all, but in-fact very practical," Lindsay continued to tease him, mercilessly. She drank some of her beer, and then directed a mischievous smile at Brian. "You're so pathetic."

Brian frowned at her with disapproval. "Yeah, well . . ." he admitted with a slow exhalation of defeat. "At least, I'm not a lesbian."


	2. Of Love and Lesbians: Part Two

_Author's Note - There will be some grammar and spelling mistakes in this chapter, but what is life without some imperfection?_

* * *

Of Love and Lesbians_  
_

_Part Two  
_

"A woman from Clown Cosmetics telephoned earlier. They've decided that it would be in their company's best interests to meet with you, so I scheduled them for an appointment at two o'clock on Wednesday the third of October," Cynthia informed him. "Brown Athletics rescheduled their appointment from nine o'clock tomorrow till one o'clock that afternoon. Also, the art department wants to hire a temporary artist because Erika has taken maternity leave, Neil's brother is in hospital and Thomas has been ill for the past week, and they cannot cope with such few staff, especially with the four new campaigns you've requested. I promised them that I'd mention it to you."

Brian accepted the information with a nod of his head. He opened his calendar on his computer and entered the dates that Cynthia had mentioned to him, but he found an error whilst he entered the data. "Cynthia, you'll have to inform Brown Athletics that unless they want to reschedule their appointment for next Monday then nine o'clock tomorrow is the earliest I have," he told her. He opened another document on his computer, and studied it for a moment. "Tell the art department that they can hire someone part-time until Thomas comes back. And send an email to Thomas that says unless he is here Monday at seven o'clock, the part-time artist will have his job. Also, tell them to abandon the Kitchener's Kitchen campaign because I know someone who can handle it. And tell them to focus on the Brown Athletics one, because I know that, despite their claims, they haven't finished it yet."

"Okay . . ." Cynthia said, but with an expression of confusion upon her face. "But, Brian, why can't Brown Athletics have a one o'clock appointment? I did make sure that you had the time tomorrow before I offered it to them."

"Did I not mention that Justin called?" Brian asked her, as he reordered the various papers and files scattered about his desk. Cynthia shook her head in response to his question. "Justin called earlier to say that he'd been invited to some exhibition in Philadelphia. I think its promotional work for a tour he's supposed to do in December. Anyway, the exhibition lasts all weekend but he's decided to make only one appearance. I'm to collect him, take him home and we'll spend the weekend in Britin. I have to leave tomorrow at twelve o'clock if I want to collect him on time."

"Look, Brian. I don't mean to disrespect your relationship, but you were in New York last weekend. . ." Cynthia started to say, with a considerable amount of caution.

"Cynthia," Brian spoke her name with evident disappointment, and some disbelief. "You know the schedule that Justin and I keep. It was compulsory that I was in New York last weekend. It's the rules."As he spoke, Cynthia released that he started to resemble a child as he talked of 'the rules'. It seemed that Brian had the black-and-white mind of a child when Justin, and their _beloved_ schedule, was concerned, despite the complete lack of rules that structured their relationship.

Cynthia released a short exasperated exhalation. "Whatever," she said. "I just don't want Kinnetik to fall behind."

"When has Kinnetik ever fallen behind?" Brian challenged her with an overconfident smile. "Anyway, you can consider it a business trip. I'll take the Kitchener's Kitchen campaign to Justin and he can handle it. He's an artist, and he likes their vases, so it should be a simple task for him."

"Okay," Cynthia surrendered. "I'll reschedule Brown Athletics, and have the work on K.K. delivered to you."

"Excellent," Brian appraised her. "And can you ask someone from tech support to update the computers? Justin and I had a terrible connection when we last spoke online."

"Our computers were not built to accommodate you and Justin and your cybersex," Cynthia reminded him in a playful tone of voice.

"Have someone from tech support fix that too, then," Brian asked her.

"Have someone from tech support fix _what_?" Ted interrupted as he entered the room with a stack of papers, bound to each-other with elastic bands.

"Brian's upset because he and Justin cannot have decent cybersex on Kinnetik's computers," Cynthia informed him.

"Yeah, I had a terrible connection the last time Leon and I tried," Ted mentioned in a sincere tone. He placed the papers before Brian, who leant towards them and sniffed them tentatively and then reclined in his chair with an expression of sickness upon his face.

"Jesus Christ," Cynthia murmured in disbelief, before she turned and departed from the office.

"So, who's this Leon? Another of your numerous lovers?" Brian inquired as a mischievous smirk danced upon his mouth. "And, after you answer that, what the fuck are these?" He motioned towards the papers in demonstration.

"Leon's someone special, and also none of your business. The papers, however, _are _your business," Ted informed him in a firm professional tone of voice. "I just need you to initial your name on a few of them. I've marked where, as you can see-" Ted pointed to the sections he had outlined with a neon pink pen. "-and it's all just expenditure and profits and so on."

"What fun," Brian commented with evident sarcasm. "The sooner Justin is here, the better," he murmured. _And for more reasons than those work-related,_ he thought to himself. He refocused his attention to Ted. "You can leave, now."

Ted saluted him, and then departed from his office with an expression of satisfaction upon his face. It never failed to astound Brian how pleased Ted's work made him, but Brian supposed that he was in a similar position. He sold sex, in the form of medication and athletic equipment and processed food, to people for hours each day, and he was paid tens of thousands of dollars to do so. What man could be displeased with that?

Brian stared at the papers for a moment, and then dismissed them. He reached across his desk and dialled a number he had welded to his mind. When a rare moment of peace presented itself to him, he always used it to either masturbate or telephone Justin – both options had the same result, eventually. He did so because every moment he had to himself he had to spend with Justin in his mind. It was not a fully conscious decision, but had it been, he would have accepted it without consideration, because he had never been ashamed of Justin. If he could, he would present Justin to the world tell and say: "This is Justin, and I only want him." Despite his initial fear, he had come to realise that it was honest, and Brian had always advocated honesty, even in the most brutal of situations.

After three dials, Justin answered the telephone at his atelier in New York. "Hello?" he answered. His distracted tone informed Brian that he was involved in some creative process, be that painting or drawing or sketching.

"Hello, Sunshine. What are you working on?" Brian inquired, in a voice he reserved for Justin. It was tender and affectionate, and also sincere. Justin had told him that he used a similar voice for Gus, but that voice always had a layer of paternal love underneath it whereas the voice he used for Justin had more lust.

"A painting. They want a couple of new pieces for the exhibition in Philadelphia. It isn't really my show, but they want to feature a couple of mine, anyway," Justin answered. "I'm using that picture of you and Gus on the beach in South Carolina as inspiration. It was always my favourite of those vacation pictures."

"I look hideous in that picture," Brian said in a distressed tone.

"As if Brian Kinney could look hideous," Justin teased him. "It's okay. I promise I won't include that rainbow-striped hat Gus had you wear in my painting. Your hair will be sun-bleached and tousled. I'll also hide that sunburn you had on your cheeks."

"That sunburn hurt like fuck," Brian commented.

"You complained so much that I guessed as much. I had to rub Aloe Vera into your face for hours," Justin reminded him. "Mind you, it wasn't the only part of you that I rubbed . . . God, that woman really shouted at you when you drank too much and tried to blow me under the table."

Brian laughed with amusement as he recalled the memory. "Still, you did let me blow you against her car," Brian said. "You came all over her car door. It was beautiful."

"And then we waited until she and her husband came outside, and we watched them when they found their car. . . Their expressions were . . ." Justin started to lose control of his speech as he convulsed with laughter. "She almost caught us. . . Imagine if she had taken us to the police? That would have been brilliant. . ."

"I was only an accessory to the fact. You were the perpetrator of the crime," Brian said. "I was happy to swallow, but then you said it'll be funnier to . . ."

"I remember, I remember . . ." Justin said. He choked upon his chuckles, and for several minutes the telephone line was occupied with the occasional bursts of feminine laughter as they attempted to calm themselves. Justin inhaled a deep breath, and then resumed a more serious conversation: "Anyway, how are you?"

"I'm well," Brian answered. "But, I do have one small request to ask of you . . ?"

"I promise I will never tell anyone what you called that woman when we were running away from her," Justin said in a serious voice.

"No, it's more of a business request. And you know you're never to tell anyone, anyway. We decided that after the Wal-Mart incident," Brian said.

"Oh, okay. What's your business request?" Justin asked.

"Do you remember Kitchener's Kitchens? I stole one of their vases for you when they did that presentation for me. It was that purple vase you really like," Brian reminded him. "Anyway, they want a new campaign for their decorative plates. I wanted to know if you could do it. My art department is fucked with a shitload of absentees. So, could you?"

"Sure," Justin answered without consideration. "Is Kitchener's Kitchens the one that invited us to that party where the owner's son blew me in the bathroom?"

"No, you're thinking of that other party with the weird pineapple wine. At the Kitchener's Kitchens party, we picked up one of the waiters and fucked him in the janitor's closet. The mops fell on you, and you smelt of industrial soap for days afterwards," Brian corrected.

"Oh, yeah . . . Yeah, I'll do the campaign," Justin consented. "Can I have another vase if I do it?"

"Maybe," Brian answered.

"Awesome," Justin approved. A silence settled between them for a moment, and then Justin said: "Did you call me up to be interested in my life, or did you call me up to be interested in my life and to have phone sex?"

"The latter does sound more like me," Brian said. He undid his belt, and slipped his hand into the front of his trousers in anticipation.

"I agree," Justin said. Brian envisioned him in New York, his paint-splattered hand poised at the obvious swell of his crotch. Even when Justin was hundreds of miles away, in another state, he was sexually attractive to Brian. "Only a lesbian would call someone without the intention to have sex with them."

"What dull phone conversations they must have," Brian muttered. "Fortunately, you and I will be spared such a dismal existence."


End file.
